Not dead after all

Last night when I went to bed, I forgot to unplug the dead Chromebook from the charger. This morning after breakfast, when I went to disconnect it, the charging light was on. When I opened the lid, it sprang into life again, presenting me with the new user's set-up screen. There were three hours worth of charge in the device too. Having restored it to factory settings last night, I had to go through the rigmarole of adding my email and blog accounts all over again, but that's made easier by the fact that Chrome browser's data is replicated on every device you maintain properly. Nothing is lost, only a little time. What a relief! I don't need to go shopping for a new one. 

Clare went to her study group after breakfast and I went to the phone repair shop to get the broken screen replaced, and then to the Co-op for the week's grocery shopping and cooked mussels with pasta and veg for lunch. Cooking was done just as Clare came through the door. It's satisfying to get the timing right.

After eating, I took a short siesta and read a few pages of my Spanish Civil War novel by Javier Cercas for an hour. It must be a couple of months since I was last reading it but I had no difficulty picking up where I left off. A four page of an account about of a massacre of prisoners with almost no survivors isn't the most cheering of reads, and there were lots of words I needed to look up for clarity, but I'm surprised how much of the narrative thread I can follow with intermediate Spanish. There are many more Spanish cuentas, I'd like to get around to reading.

At three, I drove down to the phone repair shop the collect my phone. It cost me seventy quid and another five for the screen protector I should have bought to avoid breaking the screen the first place. From there I drove up to the Mass Vaccination Centre in Llanishen for my fifth (or sixth?) covid jab. I arrived twenty minutes early, and was dealt with immediately. I was sitting in the car 'recovering' at the time of my actual appointment, and home in time for tea.

Clare went out to her meditation group, and on a whim, I cooked the remainder of the Fuet  brought home with me from Spain into a spicy salsa, some of which to eat on toast for supper, the rest for tomorrow. It's full of flavour and less chewy when cooked. That's the best way to use it in my opinion. It's tougher and drier even in thin slices than the average salchichon. The texture and flavour reminds me of Italian pancetta which I've also used to flavour sauces from time to time.

A message from Mother Frances arrived requesting cover for a funeral while she's away in three weeks time. So now I have two lined up for the coming weeks.

This evening, browsing on More Four Walter Presents, I found a new Italian crimmie set in 1930's Naples called 'Inspector Ricciardo', a beautifully drawn period piece with lengthy complex story lines like Inspector Montalbano, some interesting characters, but without the comic interludes, stunning palacial interiors and Neapolitan streets and people a bit too clean and tidy for authenticity. Ricciardo is a bit psychic, but this doesn't dominate the narrative. An enjoyable watch. And now to bed.